


Converted

by puddlejumper38



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Bug!John, Episode: s02e08 Conversion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper38/pseuds/puddlejumper38
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they get back from the second mission to the Iratus bug planet, it's already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Converted

**Prologue**

 

At first all he was aware of was the feeling of being confined, trapped, caged in against his will. The need to escape, to _break out_ , eclipsed almost everything else. Food and water was always provided, but he gave no thought to where it might be coming from, of who might be providing it.

Gradually the rage against being trapped turned to a rage against those who had trapped him. The need was not only to escape but to hunt, to kill those who dared confine him.

He spent his days throwing all his strength at the smooth walls, prowling around them searching for an exit, then hunting through the dense vegetation for anyone who may have dared to enter his domain.

Slowly, very slowly, other thoughts emerged. The knowledge that others must be bringing the food; despite it seeming to appear out of nowhere. The idea that although he could not see out, others (people- but not like him) might be able to see in.

Words and concepts emerged alongside these thoughts. First only things that were directly related to his surroundings; the place he was trapped matched the word ‘enclosure’. Later, different words formed with no concrete connections to his life. ‘Atlantis’ and ‘home’ were connected. Earth- which was an unimaginable distance away (whatever it was). Ships, but not only those that floated on water, but also those that cruised through space. Stargate; which was associated with the round pond in his enclosure.

Then, finally, a name.

John.

John Sheppard.

__________________________

 

As awareness returned to John, a nagging sensation that something was seriously wrong came with it. Originally, this seemed obvious, he was trapped by someone and needed to escape. However, quickly he became aware that the sensation related directly to _him_ , not just his situation.

John shoved those thoughts away. He needed to get out and get back to Atlantis; his home and his people. Who exactly his ‘people’ were remained elusive, faces appeared in his mind’s eye, but his was unable to place any of them, nor were they connected with names. Yet he knew he had to get back; he needed to protect them ( _from what?_ ). He had to concentrate on getting back to them. The nagging sensation had to be ignored.

Even if his hands did look wrong. Which they did, strange as it was.

John couldn’t figure it out, although he suspected it had something to do with the claws. There was definitely something _wrong_ with his claws.

A new word sprang to mind; ‘retrovirus’, connected with…. Nothing. What was ‘retrovirus’? Was it important?

No. He shook those thoughts from his head and walked around the edge of his enclosure, skimming his claws along the smooth wall. He had to have missed something.

There was a way out, and he would find it.

____________________________

 

John woke suddenly, bolting upright in the small cave he had chosen to sleep in.

_Retrovirus._

He knew what it was. How had he not realised? The sensation of wrongness, the damn claws, his own reflection that was so different to his memories of his people.

He had been changed, altered into something else. Not a wraith, he knew what a wraith was, but similar. He was no longer human.

John looked down at his hands and shuddered. The retrovirus hadn’t just changed him physically either. It had taken his mind. He could remember his grasp on his sense of self slipping away, as his body had grown stronger he’d felt less and less lucid; less _sane._ Until he’d even attacked his people, his _friends._

Suddenly he was terrified to go back to sleep. What if he lost more of who he was? It might all slip away again the second he closed his eyes.

No. That was wrong.

Things weren’t slipping away. Not anymore, they were coming back.

Which was also wrong. Impossible.

It could only get worse. He would either be cured, or lose his mind. They had told him this, had warned him they could only keep him lucid for a certain amount of time. And that time had lapsed; otherwise he wouldn’t have attacked his friends.

Which meant…

He had no idea what that meant.

And he had no idea where he was.

With the memories of the retrovirus came the memories of being denied access offworld. His friends had been going, he remembered. Even Rodney, although John seemed to remember the mission hadn’t required a scientist.

Rodney

A scientist.

Dr Rodney McKay.

His friend.

John paused to consider this, guilt settling over him. Jesus. He’d forgotten _Rodney_. And Teyla and Ronon. And Elizabeth.

Who’d been the one who’d told him he couldn’t go offworld. He’d broken her office window. So what the hell was he doing offworld?

He wasn’t on Atlantis, John was sure of that. So he must be offworld, yet he was too dangerous (Elizabeth had been right) to be allowed offworld. Elizabeth had denied his wish to go on the mission and it had failed spectacularly.

Except.

He _had_ gone somewhere.

Beckett had been there (Carson Beckett, Chief Medical Officer, and dammit that should not have been difficult to remember), handing him a container. He taken the container and then he’d… walked into a cave. Full of iratus bugs. John shuddered again, pulling his knees up to his chest. Then he pushed the memory of hundreds of iratus bugs chittering and scuttling across the floor from his mind.

He’d been in there to collect eggs, for his cure. He couldn’t remember if he’d got them. Maybe he hadn’t, because the cure clearly hadn’t happened.

He must have gone nuts and run off, John decided. Eluded the team who’d gone with him (how had he got past Ronon?) and presumably gated somewhere else. He didn’t know how he’d dialled the DHD, but he must have because he’d obviously been captured by another group of people and he was sure (mostly sure) that the bug planet had been uninhabited.

So he’d been captured by an unknown group of people on an unknown planet for an unknown reason.

He was probably exhibit A in the local zoo.

Which led right back to the need to escape.

There was no point in searching for an exit in the smooth walls; John had searched them from top to bottom. Climbing was so easy that it was a bit creepy, but it did mean that John had been able to check pretty much every inch of the wall.

He’d found nothing, it was a waste of time continuing to prowl around the perimeter checking the walls. Yet he still had to do it.

John figured he was trapped by these unknown people and completely reliant on them for food and clothing, possibly also for light, since he was pretty certain the light was generated artificially. Which meant the only advantage he had was that his captors believed he was nothing more than an animal with little intelligence.

So he had to keep it that way, so that meant not changing his behaviour when he was in sight of the enclosure walls.

Assuming the people on the other side could even see in. It was a constant source of frustration to John that he couldn’t see out.

This act was going to seriously hamper any escape attempt. John knew there was an entrance (how else had he got _in_ ) but he couldn’t find it. So he was going to have to _make_ an exit.

He’d decided to do this as simply as possible; smash a hole through one of the walls. John had selected where he would break out so viewers from the other side couldn’t easily see him; he’d chosen a section of the wall that was extremely close to one of the upper branches of a tree.

John decided to put his plan into action immediately. There were a couple of different types of rock he’d found. John picked up a sharp chunk of the hardest type of rock; the most likely to damage the smooth black wall.

He paused. The best time to work on his escape would be at night, but since the light was man made, how the hell was he supposed to know when it was night outside the enclosure?

John shrugged to himself.

No way to find out, so he’d just have to assume that his night and day cycles matched those outside.

It was only dusk, but while John could see as clearly as if it was day he knew human eyes would struggle to make out detail.

On that basis he approached his target tree immediately but via tree tops to be cautious, trying not to focus on his inhuman jumps between trees.

He settled down on the tree branch and experimentally hit the rock against the wall.

Nothing.

John adjusted his grip on the rock and slammed it into the wall with all his strength. Not a damn scratch.

It was clearly going to take constant stress to make a visible mark. John focused on a single point of the wall and started to pound the rock into in. He’d make a mark on that wall if it took all night.

Come morning, the rock was in worse shape than the wall.

________________________

 

Rodney glanced at the time on the computer screen; it was past lunch time for the third day in a row. He dug out two power bars from a drawer and munched on one while he continued to work.

A couple of months ago, had he missed lunch for more than one day there’d be an impatient colonel striding into his lab (without knocking) to drag him into the mess hall.

In all fairness to Teyla and Ronon, he was still occasionally dragged from his lab to eat, just much less frequently. Rodney sighed and devoured the second powerbar, regretting his decision the day before not to create a stash of MREs in his lab. Maybe he’d send a minion down to collect some.

A knock on the doorframe derailed what little of his train of thought remained on his vital work on the most important project of the week. Which…. wasn’t actually all that important, despite what he’d told Teyla that morning. Rodney looked up sharply with a scowl on his face, and when he saw Elizabeth his scowl deepened. She was the last person he’d expected to see. He saw her take in the powerbar wrappers and decided to get his complaint in first.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be feeding Sheppard?’ Rodney snapped.

Elizabeth winced at his choice of words.

Well too bad, thought Rodney. He’d never been one for sensitivities. It was also possible he was a bit touchy on the subject, particularly when someone came back early or even _forgot_. After his loyalty to them.

‘I just got back,’ Elizabeth told him, deliberately not taking offence at Rodney’s implied criticism. Then she sighed. ‘He was pacing again.’

She fixed him with a kind but firm look that said they were going to have The Conversation again. ‘Rodney…’

Rodney turned back to his work. ‘No.’

He could just imagine her raised eyebrows. ‘I haven’t said anything yet.’

‘Carson said the cure is progressing,’ said Rodney stubbornly, if he could stop her from voicing the other option (again) he would. It wasn’t an option anyway, not in Rodney’s mind.

Elizabeth stopped behind his computer. ‘You know exactly what that cure is Rodney.’

And so he did. Carson was working on the cure far slower then he should be, but because it was too late. There had been a brief window in which his friend’s mind could have been saved, but by the time they’d returned with Sheppard and the iratus eggs that window had closed. Now the cure would make John Sheppard look human again, but that was all it would do.

Rodney kept his gaze fixed on his computer. ‘Yes. It’s half a cure, I’ll find the other half.’

He would find the other half. There was an Ancient machine somewhere that could help John, there had to be.

Elizabeth, however, had a different opinion. ‘Rodney, you don’t know that, and we can’t keep him here like this. Every single time I see him I’m reminded; he _told_ me what he wanted, after I updated him on the first mission. He said-’

_Kill me now._

Rodney didn’t need to hear her say it again.

‘I know what he said,’ Rodney snapped. ‘But he would’ve, wouldn’t he? God forbid anyone else is in danger, but if it’s his life…’

Rodney realised he was waving his hands around in frantic movements and stopped in time to see Elizabeth wince. But of course John had spoken to her about that too. Being aware of others wasn’t Rodney’s best skill, but he would’ve had to be deaf not to have heard the rumours about John’s outburst in Elizabeth’s office, _and_ he’d seen the broken window.

_This is_ my _life we’re talking about!_

‘He wouldn’t give up on us,’ Rodney finished, jerking his chin up.

Elizabeth seemed to realise they were going around in circles. ‘Just look at him next time, Rodney. I know you’ll be there for most of tomorrow, so just _watch_ him. Look at him and then tell me there’s still a chance. We have to be able to agree before we do anything, and I want you to reconsider.’

With that she was gone, leaving Rodney staring blankly at his computer screen.

He wasn’t going to reconsider, because he was right. He was _always_ right. He ignored the little voice that pointed out that recent evidence said he was definitely _not_ always right and that John Sheppard of all people knew it. He was right on this.

He would go tomorrow with the food and keep John company. And yes, he would look at him, but he’d already seen him, so he would not reconsider. Not ever.

Except John wasn’t around to be watched the next morning.

Inside the Ancient outpost Rodney went around the outside of the enclosure but couldn’t see him anywhere. So Rodney returned to the open space that they were calling the main hall and sent John’s breakfast to him via the transporter, but still there was no sign. That was unusual, if not unheard of; John was frequently out of sight when he arrived, but had never skipped a meal.

Sitting down in his usual spot in the main hall, Rodney took out his laptop and worked, waiting for John to arrive. And if there was a heavy feeling settling in his gut, well that was no one’s business, it wasn’t as if Rodney was disappointed John hadn’t shown up. No. Not at all.

At 10.00 am Atlantis time Rodney checked lifesigns to make sure John was, in fact, still there. He was. Actually the lifesigns detector indicated he was still in the cave where he slept. Of course Rodney would have been able to confirm that had things gone to plan. But John going berserk and attacking all the cameras had certainly not been to plan. It had been down right scary when Rodney had seen him charging at the camera.

Rodney frowned.Iit was completely unheard of for John to still be in the cave. For some reason, despite obvious light sensitivity, John had never adopted nocturnal hours.

At one point it had looked like he was going to, and then he readjusted to waking in daylight. Rodney turned back to his work. John would show up. Any minute now.

John turned up at 12.00 pm Atlantis time, just past his lunch time. He emerged from the tree line blinking his cat eyes… sleepily.

That did worry Rodney, he didn’t want John to be nocturnal. Anything, anything at all, that John did that was vaguely normal was a sign of hope.

As always, John surveyed the wall cautiously before approaching the food, his movements different to how they’d been before the change, in a way Rodney couldn’t quite put his finger on.

John took his breakfast, in a plain carved wooden bowl, and disappeared back into the treeline. Rodney paused, then sent in John’s lunch. He’d probably eat it despite the late breakfast. John had an extremely fast metabolism. Which Rodney was absolutely not thinking about because John’s right hand was _fine_ and was going to stay that way, so there was no reason to think about it. None at all.

Later, when John began his routine of prowling around the walls of the enclosure. Rodney walked with him, explaining his newest project to John, who couldn’t hear a word of what he was saying. When John leapt up the nearest tree to continue his examination at tree level, Rodney went back to get him his dinner and change of clothes.

For whatever reason, John still changed clothes. Rodney took it as another sign that his mind was not beyond saving, if only Rodney could just find the right technology. However, Rodney thought it was a bit much to expect John to wash his clothes. That wasn’t a problem though, he could just send new clothes, every few days.

Rodney was furious he couldn’t give John his Atlantis military uniform; it just seemed right for John to wear it. The IOA and military disagreed. In fact, they disagreed with the whole situation, they wanted to study John, to keep him in a lab. Thankfully Rodney and Elizabeth had Caldwell’s support against that, because apparently Ronon and Teyla’s opinion on the matter didn’t count to anyone back on Earth. Despite disliking the man on principle, Rodney had tried to get Caldwell’s support for the clothes as well, but he’d refused to argue against the decision that Earth would not be spending the money to feed and clothe John.

Actually, the word from the SGC was that nothing should be left at the outpost that could tie the Atlantis expedition to John if another group of people found him. Rodney had argued that that was ridiculous, made more so when he pointed out that John had been _wearing his uniform_ when they put him in there. But no. The SGC did not want the Atlantis expedition tied to someone who resembled a wraith.

Rodney, Ronon and Teyla traded for John’s clothing. Often with Earth, not Athosian, supplies, but Caldwell didn’t need to know that. Rodney just used the offworld food they were already trading for to feed John, which Caldwell did know, and was constantly threatening to do something about it.

John would probably prefer what they were giving him to MRE’s anyway.

Rodney watched John take the food and clothes and then packed up to leave. It would be night outside, but only dusk on Atlantis. Rodney had set John’s environment to Atlantis time.

That way he wouldn’t have to readjust when they brought him home to Atlantis.

________________________

 

John slashed a hand through his reflection in his pond angrily. He couldn’t get out. The walls were too strong, he didn’t know what the hell they were made out of but he couldn’t make a dent with _anything._

He’d ended up punching it, like he had in Elizabeth’s office, but all he’d ended up with was a damn painful hand. Which had healed creepily fast. Go figure.

He’d already _known_ hitting it wouldn’t work. He could remember far enough back to know he’d attacked the walls before, never with any result.

If he couldn’t get out…

John ran a hand through his hair. He was _not_ going to live out his life like an exhibit in a zoo. Even if he did make a really fucking exotic exhibit. He wasn’t even _human_ anymore.

‘Shit,’ John breathed.

He’d find a way out.

But he was definitely going to have to break out. He had a nasty suspicion he’d arrived the same way his food did. So. No door.

There had to be something else he could use. Not the wooden bowls he received food in, wood was even worse than rock. And there was nothing on the clothes.

Or was there…?

John had a little heap of clothes in his cave. He’d starting trying to wash them, in case his captors stopped sending more, but the claws had made that difficult and he hadn’t stopped receiving clothes (yet) so he’d given up.

On one of the earlier ones he remembered wearing, which had been more elaborate (translation: ugly) then some of the others, there’d been something attached to it that had irritated his scales. If he was remembering right, which wasn’t a certainty because he’d been pretty out of it at the time, then it might just work.

John rummaged through the clothes pile.

‘Come on,’ he muttered. It had to be there somewhere.

He pulled out a large hooded coat and threw it over his shoulder; it would be more useful if the enclosure actually got cold.

It worried him how many different outfits he had. He seemed to get them every few days. So judging by that he’d been there weeks. Atlantis might not even be looking for him anymore.

_You’re not human, your mind had gone_ , John reminded himself. _Would they have looked for you at all?_

John yanked out the long sleeved shirt he was looked for, perhaps more violently than necessary.

He ripped open the right sleeve and there it was. An oversized, uglier than the shirt, muddy brown coloured broach holding the damaged sleeve lining together. It was made from some kind of metal and seemed pretty tough, under the circumstances that made it the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

The whole thing was chunky and badly designed, even the metal pin was thicker than necessary. It was a terrible broach, but it might just scratch the enclosure wall.

He wanted to try it, but it was day and he just couldn’t risk it. It might be his only good chance of breaking out.

So he paced around the perimeter. For an indoor area, the enclosure was huge, but once you’ve paced around the perimeter for hours every day it loses its appeal. Particularly when you’re lucid enough to get bored.

He could gradually stop, but it was too high a risk. Any significant change in behaviour could tip his captors off that maybe he wasn’t completely stupid and then he might never get out.

Jogging might not be too suspicious though. He already did occasionally since he’d been put in the enclosure, to keep fit, which he suspected was a bit of a joke because if hardly ever tired him out now.

He abruptly broke into a jog, only to be greeted almost immediately with a soft, but sharp, tap on the wall _from the other side_. John stopped dead and swung around to face the noise, eyes narrowing.

There _were_ people watching him. Probably regularly if they’d just happened to be there when he changed his routine. He wondered what they’d thought the day before when he’d been so tired from trying to beat down the wall with the rock that he’d slept most of the morning. Hopefully they hadn’t thought it significant.

Well if someone was watching him he couldn’t stop them, but he was damn well going to creep them out.

He darted back to where the noise had come from with lightning speed, then stared intently at the blank wall, pulling his top lip up into a snarl. He cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes further to complete the picture.

Suddenly, slammed a hand into the wall, before turning around and leaping into the high branches of a nearby tree.

There. If that hadn’t freaked out his unseen watcher he didn’t know what would.

And it served the sonofabitch right.

________________________

 

Elizabeth rarely stayed long when it was her turn to give John his meals. She had responsibilities, now more than ever. It was hard to keep up the expedition’s moral, harder still when for all intends and purposes they had lost their military commander and yet he was still alive.

She stood in the main hall of the Ancient outpost, watching John sit with his back up against a rock. He got up with a slight stretch and began pacing. Elizabeth starting speaking. About everything and nothing at all, explaining to John what was happening in Atlantis in his absence. She knew Rodney did this, and maybe it helped him, but in the end it left her feeling empty.

Elizabeth studied John quietly, watching him pace up and down and then bowed her head and continued.

‘I’m sorry, John, that we’ve left you like this. You never would have wanted it. You told me that yourself.’ Elizabeth placed a hand on the glass. ‘But somehow I can’t bring myself to regret it. We haven’t given up on you, and to do anything else would feel like a betrayal.’

Elizabeth sighed. Anything else _would_ feel like a betrayal, but she knew they had already tried everything, had already exhausted all possibilities. This, _this_ was the betrayal. Keeping John here against what he’d wanted, what he’d made a point to ask of her. And yet, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to give the final order.

‘It’s empty without you,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Honestly I think we’re all in shock. Somehow we’d managed to convince ourselves that you were invincible.’

A slight cough from behind her drew Elizabeth attention and she turned around to face Rodney.

He shifted awkwardly, laptop balanced on one hand, not meeting her eye. ‘Oh, uh, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.’ He paused, then took a step forward. ‘He can’t hear you, y’know, the coating on the glass is sound proof.’

Elizabeth offered a small smile. ‘Yes, I know. I think I was talking more for myself.’

___________________________

 

They were expected to return to the field. To continue to go on missions.

It shouldn’t have been unexpected; Rodney knew that. It didn’t mean he had to like it and it certainly didn’t mean he was going to do any such thing considering the news had come from Caldwell, not Elizabeth. Caldwell hadn’t even been given an official position on Atlantis yet, and Rodney was willing to bet Elizabeth would fight to keep it that way.

It wasn’t just the order itself that irked Rodney, it was the nature of the new team. Ronon’s position was in doubt because Caldwell had decided he wasn’t yet trustworthy and Major Lorne would be taking John’s position on the team.

Rodney was willing to admit that Major Lorne was not his favourite person on the base (it was perfectly sound to be suspicious of someone who implied they wanted to shoot you), but it was hardly a great move for Lorne either. He’d already been part of a team, and had tried to argue against being moved from it.

No. Until Elizabeth herself confirmed the decision (and maybe even then) Rodney was only going offworld to one place.

It had been a surprise to see Elizabeth still there and her words refused to leave Rodney. He hadn’t thought John was invincible, surely. No, of course not, he was Dr. Rodney McKay, Ph.D, Ph.D, and he had more than enough genius to understand every imaginable risk of being in the Pegasus Galaxy. And this wasn’t an inevitable risk of the Pegasus Galaxy. This was something _their own retrovirus_ had caused and it could be fixed.

John was still prowling close to the wall, so Rodney followed him for a few paces and then turned to set up his equipment. As he turned the heavy backpack swung solidly against the glass. The glass, which was coated on the inside with a layer that was both incredibly tough and prevented John from seeing out, was largely sound proof. However, there was no way John wouldn’t have heard a direct crash onto the glass. Rodney froze, and carefully turned around.

Sure enough, Rodney found himself face to face with John, who was staring at him with eerie accuracy.

‘Um, hi,’ said Rodney, uselessly waving his hand in a small wave.

John couldn’t possibly have heard him, but his cat-like eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side as if listening, his top lip raised in a snarl.

Rodney automatically took a step backwards and then scrambled further as John slammed a hand into the glass and, moving at lightning speed, leapt into the trees.

Rodney sat down with a _thud_ , heart still pounding.

He tried to concentrate on equipment, but it was even more hopeless than it had been in his lab. All he could think of was the conversation he’d had with Elizabeth Weir only a few days earlier.

_Just_ look _at him next time, Rodney_ , she’d said.

_I want you to reconsider._

___________________________

 

John had a memory, no, not even that; a scrap of a memory, like with the broach. He’d paced the enclosure so many times, but it still took him hours to track down the spot. He had no idea how this place was maintained, but someone had failed to notice the tree branch pressing into the outer wall. If John leaned in close enough, he could just make out stress fractures in the smooth onyx surface, so tiny that without his sharp new eyesight he wouldn’t have noticed. But maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

Sure, John had no idea how long the tree had been putting pressure on the wall, but at least he knew it wasn’t indestructible. And he had an existing weakness to use.

The ugly broach was doing a good job at scratching the wall. Not great, but good enough. John sat back in his tree in what he estimated to be the early hours of the morning and examined his handiwork. He’d made a series of shallow scratches that measured roughly a foot long. It had taken all night but it was definitely progress. As long as he kept at it, he would be able to break out.

_Yeah? Unless the wall’s a foot thick, then maybe in fifty years time._

John sucked in a sharp breath at the thought and clung on to the branch he was holding on to as a wave of dizziness washed over him. A shallow scratch about a foot long in a night. If the walls were thick it could easily take decades. Even lifetimes.

_You’ve got iratus DNA now. Maybe you’ll even live that long._

John ran a shaky hand through his hair, running his fingers along his scalp… and jerked his hand back at the sting of pain. Right. Claws. Sure enough, when he looked at his hand there was blood on his claws. John stared dumbly at it.

_Keep it together, John_.

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk with a _thunk_ , and took long slow breaths.

‘The walls could be a foot wide,’ John told himself, mostly just to break the silence. ‘Or they could be an inch. Only one way to find out.’

If they were an inch thick he’d get through, no problem. Yeah, it would take a little while, but he’d get there.

And if they were a foot thick… well if they were a foot thick it would take decades at this rate. At least. So he’d just have to buck up and damn well work faster then.

John estimated he still had a few hours of dark left and he intended to use each and every one of them. He could go a few days without any sleep; he needed less sleep now then he’d ever needed. He’d work solidly for the next few days, then cut back just enough to get a few hours sleep each night. That might just work.

Ignoring the blood on his claws, John set back to work.

___________________________

 

Rodney’s work rate had dropped and he could see Zelenka giving him pitying looks over it.

Despite working longer and longer hours, Rodney found he was achieving less and less, and he had no doubt Zelenka knew why. Over the last few days, John was becoming less active during the day. He was still awake, still pacing some of the time, but disappearing or sitting down for longer. Rodney was beginning to think he should schedule a night visit, but he kept putting it off. John couldn’t be going nocturnal, not now after weeks of not changing his routine.

It wasn’t just that, though. Rodney hated it; all of it. The relentless pacing, the freaky behaviour, unexplained blood in John’s hair and now signs of becoming nocturnal. It was all so… inhuman.

Rodney had a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d found nothing in the Ancient database and he kept arriving back at the one major roadblock; Carson’s cure could not bring back John’s mind.

‘Doctor Beckett said the cure’s complete.’

The statement, uttered from no more than two feet from Rodney’s chair, made him jerk back, only to see Ronon looming. Which was so not what he needed; he knew Ronon’s opinion as well as he knew Elizabeth’s. Not that he was going to take Ronon’s opinion into account. John might have taken the guy in, but Rodney maintained that Ronon simply hadn’t known John long enough to be involved in the decision.

‘Yes,’ Rodney said, in way of a reply.

‘We should give it to him.’

Rodney scowled. ‘No, no we shouldn’t. Not yet.’

No way should they give John half a cure. Rodney couldn’t, didn’t _want to_ , imagine John looking like himself but with his mind taken by the retrovirus. The very thought… No. That was not happening on Rodney’s watch.

‘No one should live like that. We should let him die as himself,’ Ronon said, cutting straight to the point.

‘We’re not letting him die _at all_ ,’ said Rodney, and was immediately horrified at how unsure he sounded.

Ronon gave him a stony look. ‘Sheppard deserves better than this.’

Rodney wanted to shout that Ronon barely knew John and therefore had no idea what John either wanted or deserved.

‘He doesn’t _deserve_ to die!’ snapped Rodney, instead. ‘And I’m going to save him.’

Rodney stared resolutely at the computer until Ronon went away, then he got up and headed for Elizabeth’s office because for the second time in the space of a few months he was wrong. And this time was just as catastrophic as Doranda.

Because he’d known as soon as he’d shouted it at Ronon; he wasn’t going to be able to save John Sheppard. There was no miracle Ancient device, and even Carson’s voodoo couldn’t bring John back.

_He told me what he wanted, Rodney._

Rodney walked through Atlantis in a daze and straight into Elizabeth’s office without knocking.

‘We’ll have to discuss it with Carson, Teyla, and even Ronon, first, obviously,’ Rodney told her. ‘But I already know what Teyla and Ronon think and Carson’s been pretty certain from the start.’

Elizabeth didn’t say anything. She just closed the file she was reading, sat back, and waited.

Rodney fumbled for the right words.

‘There’s nothing,’ he blurted out. ‘I’ve searched everything I can think of and I’ve been watching him and… he’s not _there_ , is he? Not anymore.’

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly and then looked directly at him. ‘No. I don’t believe he is. And, Rodney, we both know what he wanted, but at this point, you need to be sure.’

‘I am sure,’ Rodney mumbled, and it sounded unconvincing to his own ears. ‘I’ve been watching him and… I’ve reconsidered.’

Rodney saw a flash of sadness in her eyes and it occurred to him for the first time that maybe her arguments in the last few weeks had been for herself, as much as him.

‘I’ll arrange a meeting with all of you tomorrow,’ Elizabeth said quietly. ‘We’ll discuss it fully then. And Rodney? Thank you.’

Rodney gave a stiff nod. He almost wished it had been him John had spoken to back when the inhibitor had still been working. Maybe if he’d heard John say it, maybe then it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal. But Elizabeth had told him what John had said, she’d made it very clear.

_Kill me now._

______________________

 

John was pretty sure he had been scratching the smooth wall for four nights running… although it could have been five. It would have been easy enough to keep track of days if he could risk making a tally on the wall of his cave. However, despite not needing as much sleep, as he worked at escaping all night, John found he needed to take a nap each day.

He really hoped it hadn’t attracted any attention, but if someone actually came in the enclosure to check it out, unlikely as that was, John didn’t want anything as likely as a tally hanging around.

So John thought it was the fifth night of work when he examined the rough two by four foot square he’d scratched into the wall.

His progress would have been reasonable, assuming the walls weren’t too thick, except…

John turned his yellow eyes from the wall and studied the ugly broach critically.

The wall was damaging the broach almost as much as the broach was damaging the wall and it was now looking suspiciously blunt. Not quite ineffectively blunt, but close enough that his escape time was looking closer to decades again… assuming he got through at all.

‘Maybe they’ll send me another broach,’ John said to the ugly broach. ‘Because you’re damn useless.’

John looked back at the wall, at the roughly scratched outline and avoided looking at the broach. He had to think positively.

He would get out. He was going to escape. He _was_ going to escape. He was going to escape.

He was not going to escape.

He was going to die there, half bug.

John slammed himself, shoulder first, into the wall. The he backed up on the tree branch and shoulder charged it again with all his strength.

‘Break, _goddamn it_ ,’ snarled John, hurling himself at the wall.

There was a sharp _crack_.

John blinked at the wall in confusion.

He stepped back and stared. There was no obvious difference in the wall, even with his new eyesight. Maybe he’d imagined it.

‘Great,’ said John, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

He frowned. Well, if he was going crazy (again) there was one way to find out. John another charge in the middle of his rough rectangle.

_Crack_.

John staggered back, struggling to keep his balance. He hadn’t imagined _that_. But it was impossible. He hadn’t damaged it enough for this to be happening. He couldn’t see any cracks, so it couldn’t be working. But it was.

He’d originally planned to make the hole, look out and _then_ jump through. He was high enough up that he’d like to know what was on the other side before jumping. If he was shoulder charging it, that wasn’t going to be an option.

John shrugged. Better a hard landing than living his life out as a zoo exhibit.

He backed up on the branch again, thankful of the balance his transformation gave him. Then he rammed his shoulder into the wall again… and continued straight through in a shower of glass.

John had gone through shoulder first, and so he hit the ground shoulder first, in an intense burst of pain. He lost consciousness for no more than a few seconds before he blinked up at a high ceiling, lying on a carpet of broken glass.

Lying there, stunned, it occurred to John that he’d just successfully broken out.

The victory was marred slightly by the jabs of pain.

‘Crap,’ coughed John. ‘Ow.’

Gingerly, in a wave of dizziness, John sat up. His shoulder flared up in pain. John let out a slight moan. Dislocated. Definitely. There was no one in the immediate area, which seemed to be some kind of corridor, so John checked his injuries.

Miraculously, he didn’t seem to have any broken bones. Score one for the retrovirus.

John carefully raised his (relatively) uninjured arm. It was covered in tiny scratches… and one or two not so tiny. As he watched, one of the smaller scratches closed up. John shuddered. Creepy. Then again, it was also useful.

His should wasn’t going to heal though. Not until he popped it back into place. Best to do it quickly. Also better to have someone else do it, but John didn’t have that option. He’d done this in the field before, but not to himself. It was going to be harder one handed.

John shifted over until he had his back pressed to the wall and sure enough the first try hurt like a bitch and John fought to stay conscious. His shoulder remained stubbornly dislocated.

John took a deep breath.

He got it into place on the second try.

‘Ow.’ John cursed through gritted teeth. Things weren’t as painful anymore, but he was definitely avoiding doing _that_ again any time soon. ‘Shit.’

His shoulder still hurt, but it was better. He could move it, so that was going to have to be good enough. His hand hurt though. John carefully lifted his arm.

He was missing a claw.

Oh well. That was practically an improvement.

The glass had left cuts pretty much all over his body, but John figured he didn’t have the time to wait for all of them to heal. He was not going to hang around to get locked up again. He staggered to his feet, and nearly face planted; there was a long gash down his left leg.

‘Wonderful,’ John ground out, gingerly leaning weight on it. Bad, but not too bad.

He took in his surroundings. The corridor looked Ancient and it looked like it was simply there for a path around what had been his enclosure. He could see straight through the wall on this side, all though the long cracks in the glass spoilt the view.

‘So long, and thanks for all the fish,’ said John, mock saluting the place, and hobbled off to find the exit.

It was _bright_ outside. Much too bright. Which made no sense because it had been dark inside the Ancient facility. If it was day outside…

John crouched down with his back to the wall and forced his eyes partially open. There was an open landscape, no significant landmarks in sight. The place looked like it had been deserted a long time ago.

That made no sense at all. John had thought there’d been no one in the facility because it was night. Outside, in full daylight, he would have expected activity around what he’d assumed was some kind of zoo. That apparently had only one exhibit. Huh. So he’d not only been exhibit A, he’d been exhibit one and only.

And these people liked to keep their zoo isolated. And didn’t go to the zoo during the day.

There was only one visible track. John examined it carefully. Some foot traffic, but not too busy. John decided to follow the track, he needed to find the Stargate and if that meant going past the local village then he’d do it. And try not to get killed in the process.

The track led directly to the Stargate, no village in sight.

‘Offworld single exhibit zoo,’ said John, frowning.

Not that it mattered. He was hardly going to stick around and ask why.

John dialled Atlantis. He even got as far as the seventh symbol, then he automatically went to send his IDC from the GDO, that he didn’t have.

John scowled. When nothing went through, the gate shut down again. The most that would have achieved was confusing the control room. That left the alpha site, where there was no Elizabeth to stop him from being shot on site. No guarantee his people would recognise him. He dialled anyway and staggered to the open wormhole.

‘Here goes nothing.’ John stepped through the gate.

______________________

 

Rodney beamed John’s breakfast through to him.

_His last meal._ Rodney thought sourly.

Carson had a sedative ready and they planned to transport him back to Atlantis that afternoon. They’d all gone over the plan and Rodney hated it. Yes, they’d planned the least stressful way possible for John, but he still hated it. The plan was that once they’d sedated him he would never wake up; he’d be taken straight to the infirmary and given a lethal injection. The less stressful solution. For John, anyway.

‘Look,’ said Rodney to the tree line, because that was where John usually was before coming out to his food. ‘I thought you should know that, uh, we’ve made a decision and you’ll be heading back to Atlantis later today. I,’ he hesitated, ‘I couldn’t find a solution. I looked through the database but there wasn’t… there just isn’t anything.’ Rodney ducked his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

John didn’t emerge from the trees.

Rodney huffed out a sigh and set off around the perimeter to look for him. He didn’t get far; he rounded one corner and stopped. Right across his view into the enclosure was a long crack in the glass.

Rodney froze.

He looked along the wall.

On the floor, not too far in front of him, was a mess of glass and blood. Above it was a hole in the wall of John’s enclosure. There was a rough hole in the inner coating of the wall, but the outer layer of glass had shattered, throwing long, jagged cracks along the wall.

‘Oh no. No no no no no. That can’ t be there.’ Rodney scrambled for his lifesigns detector and hurriedly fiddled with the settings.

There was one lifesign in the entire Ancient outpost. His.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

If John had got out (which was impossible, totally utterly and completely impossible and yet still happening) then he was somewhere loose on the planet. Which meant Rodney needed back up and quickly.

Ditching his backpack, Rodney ran for the Stargate.

______________________

 

Thankfully, the alpha site was cloudy.

John had not been shot on sight, largely because there was no one around to shoot him.

‘I’m going to kill Sergeant Mathews for this,’ John told the vacant area. Leaving the gate attended was a perfect way to get ambushed by wraith darts, or any other unfriendlies who paid them a visit.

The rest of the alpha site was as well manned as the Stargate.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ muttered John, echoing Rodney.

Wraith attack, it had to be. There was signs of stunner fire on the trees and the whole place had been completely packed up. So, wraith attack, but a while ago because teams had been sent to clean everything up.

John sat down, right in the middle of where the alpha site should have been.

He was hungry, tired and his leg still hurt; which made sense in a creepy kind of way, because the wraith’s ability to heal was directly related to how recently they’d fed. Not that John fed like a wraith. The retrovirus had spared him that at least.

‘Shit all you can to here, John,’ he told himself, standing up. Attacked, cleaned up and abandoned; no one was coming back to this site, that was for sure.

He headed back to the gate and decided to just wing it from there.

Except there was nothing better to do at the gate.

He knew the addresses of plenty of their trading partners. All of whom would kill him on sight, or lock him up. Again. Not that he blamed them, and he didn’t even have the huge hooded cloak to hide behind. John cursed his oversight at leaving it in the enclosure, it hadn’t seemed useful in there, but it sure as hell was now that he needed to hide his appearance. He might have had a chance with the Athosians, except they were all living on Lantea’s mainland.

Which left, of course, Atlantis. Who wouldn’t drop the gate shield because John had no GDO. John knew what would happen if he went through anyway. He’d _seen_ it happen; he would hit the shield like a bug on a windscreen. 

Ha.

That would be ironic.

He’d have to think on that option.

John sat down and leaned against the DHD.

______________________

 

They held an emergency meeting to the conference room.

Rodney was well aware that people skills were one of his (few) shortcomings, however even he could see that Caldwell was livid. Over the wrong issues.

‘Who knows what information he could pass on to the wraith,’ Caldwell was ranting.

And _that_ was the height of stupidity. Rodney snorted derisively, causing Caldwell to round on him.

‘Did you have something to say, Dr McKay?’ he demanded.

Rodney stuck his chin out defiantly. ‘Yes, actually. How about that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard? We locked Sheppard in there because _he’s lost his mind_. Literally. Gone. He’s more likely to scratch out the wraith’s eyes then to talk to them.’

Caldwell had clearly lost that round, which was why, Rodney assumed, he changed the subject.

‘Perhaps, Doctor, the question we should be asking is; how did he break out?’ asked Caldwell. ‘You personally assured me that the walls in the Ancient enclosure were strong enough to keep him in.’

‘They were!’ Rodney said, indignantly, because they absolutely had been. Right up to the point when they weren’t. ‘They were glass-’

‘You expected _glass_ to keep him in?’ interrupted Caldwell.

_Oh for the love of…_

‘If you’d let me finish,’ snapped Rodney. ‘The inner surface of the glass was finely coated with a much stronger material, one we haven’t fully analysed yet. We suspect the Ancient’s used it because it worked as a one-way mirror, so we could see in, but Sheppard couldn’t see out. But this material doesn’t break under the kind of blunt force the Sheppard could provide by ramming it, the force is just too dispersed! It would need a significant, _repeated_ force concentrated at a single point. And before you say it; no, a rock would not work. It’s just not hard enough and there is no way it is pointed enough. Even if Sheppard had a knife, which he didn’t, I doubt he’d have been lucid enough to use it!’

‘He got out somehow,’ Caldwell pointed out with irritating logic. ‘So your theory must be wrong.’

‘It’s not just a theory!’ protested Rodney. ‘It-’

‘Gentlemen,’ shouted Elizabeth, with far more force than Rodney had been expecting.

It had a better effect on Caldwell than Rodney would have thought, because Caldwell turned to face her.

‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth, then she looked determinedly around the table. ‘Right now this second, _how_ Colonel Sheppard escaped is not our priority. We need to _find_ him. We’ve got jumpers in the air sweeping the planet, but so far they haven’t found anything. I need to know our options.’

‘We need to gather the last fifty addresses dialled from the DHD,’ said Rodney, and waited for the inevitable.

‘A minute ago you were convinced he wasn’t even lucid enough to break out!’ argued Caldwell.

‘Do I need to paint you a picture?’ asked Rodney, irritably. ‘He did get out, so we’ve got to assume its possible he remembers how to use the Stargate.’

‘Okay, Rodney, I need you to go and get those addresses. I also want an additional marine team at the gate with stunners. For now, that seems to be the best we can do, but I want to know the _second_ anyone comes up with anything.’ Elizabeth nodded to the group, a sign that the meeting was finished.

Caldwell thought otherwise. ‘The marines don’t need the stunners.’

‘Wraith stunners won’t work on Sheppard,’ added Ronon, taking out his own gun. ‘Mine will.’

‘We shouldn’t be using stunners at all,’ said Caldwell. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that a decision had been made on Colonel Sheppard.’

‘I believe we should still bring him back here,’ stated Teyla, aiming a level stare at Caldwell. ‘ John deserves to end his life here, among his friends.’

Rodney pointed at Teyla, looking hopefully at Elizabeth. ‘What she said.’

‘I am not endangering lives for the sake of one man, particularly not someone who is as good as dead already,’ Caldwell said to Elizabeth.

‘We won’t be endangering others,’ replied Elizabeth, firmly. ‘All marines will be armed with P90s, but stunners are to be the first option. The gate is on open ground, so they should see him coming. We want to bring him back here, but we will not lose anyone attempting it, so yes, lethal force should be used if necessary, but _only_ if necessary. Ronon, I want you at the gate with the marines.’

Ronon holstered his gun, which Rodney assumed was an agreement.

Caldwell still looked vaguely mutinous, but stayed silent.

‘Okay,’ said Elizabeth, standing up. ‘Let’s go find him.’

Since they’d been the only people using the planet for a long time, Rodney’s task of looking through the fifty gate addresses was made much easier. Occasionally, Teyla had gone straight to another planet to trade, or a team had stopped by on their way to a mission, or someone had gated to the alpha site.

Rodney was pretty certain that no one had dialled the old alpha site recently enough for it to be on the list, yet there it was.

It had been the alpha site when John had been infected with the retrovirus, they’d lost it only a few days after they’d moved John offworld. It hadn’t been what Rodney was looking for. He’d expected that John had hit the DHD enough times that he’d managed, by fluke, to open a wormhole.

Apparently, he’d actually remembered an address.

It explained why the search teams had found nothing, but it had been the most likely scenario ever since Ronon had turned up and announced there were no tracks leading anywhere except straight to the Stargate. They’d wasted hours searching the planet. Rodney hoped John hadn’t remembered any other addresses, otherwise he’d be long gone.

Even with his genius, it was worth a double check. Rodney pulled the data he’d been given on the people who had gone to see John and where they’d dialled back to. There was no mistake; no one had dialled the old alpha site from that planet.

He tapped at his radio. ‘Elizabeth, I’ve got something. Meet me in the control room with Teyla and Ronon.’

Rodney swiped a tack vest and equipment on his way and by the time he reached the control room, Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth were all there. So was Caldwell.

‘He dialled the old alpha site,’ announced Rodney.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Elizabeth.

Rodney rolled his eyes and waved a hand at his offworld gear. ‘Do I look _un_ sure?’

‘I’ll recall the marines, they can sweep the old alpha site for him,’ said Caldwell.

Ronon rested a hand on his gun. ‘We can handle it.’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Teyla?’

Teyla nodded. ‘I believe Ronon, Rodney and I will be able to find him. John will easily be able to avoid large groups of people.’

‘And I can stun him,’ said Ronon.

‘Yes,’ said Rodney. ‘Ronon’s gun is the only no lethal method we no will stop him and plan A is still to bring him back here, so...’ Rodney looked hopefully to Elizabeth, if she didn’t agree then John would be shot offworld in a fight with his own people. Rodney would damage the Atlantis gate before he allowed _that_ to happen and he was fairly certain there was no scientist in Atlantis who would fix it.

‘Rodney, Ronon and Teyla will attempt to find him, if they haven’t in three hours, I’ll send marines and jumpers,’ Elizabeth said to Caldwell.

Caldwell shook his head. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘It makes perfect sense,’ broke in Rodney, Caldwell may not be familiar with Teyla and Ronon’s skills, but his arguments were _wasting time._ ‘Ronon can track him, Teyla may even be able to sense him, and while I accept that’s beyond creepy, it could be useful. I can use the lifesigns detector _and_ take the DHD control crystal so he can’t dial out while we’re searching. What doesn’t make sense is the three hours. We need-‘

‘You have three hours,’ Elizabeth repeated, but her tone was apologetic. ‘We need to find him, the longer it takes the further away he is, and we need to be certain he hasn’t already dialled out again. Good luck.’

______________________

 

The gate activating startled John out of a doze. He hesitated, then ran for the nearest tree, whoever it was, they were likely to be hostile, but in John’s experience people tended not to look up. He was glad the planet chosen for the alpha site was pretty much covered it forest; he’d had way too much practise climbing trees in the past few weeks.

It was a reasonable distance to the next tree, but John jumped the gap anyway; the further he got from the gate the better. There wasn’t much on the planet, part of what had made it a good alpha site, so whoever it was would probably just poke around for a bit, then go home.

John picked a tree a couple of hundred meters from the gate and settle down to wait.

The newcomers didn’t leave. They walked back and forth in some kind of pattern, as if they were looking for something. It was freaking John out a bit.

It was a hell of a coincidence, but it had to be a coincidence. He’d been out of sight from and the gate long before anyone had come through.

There was no way anyone had followed him from the Ancient outpost because there hadn’t been anyone there; John was certain of it. The ground had been open and flat and the place had been utterly silent, like some kind of low budget horror movie set, but without the zombies climbing up from underground. So, definitely a coincidence.

John closed his eyes and _listened_. At least three people, only… They were splitting up. Two heading in opposite directions to each other. The third continued straight for John, the footsteps were coming closer by the second until they were right underneath him, accompanied by a weirdly familiar beeping sound.

Moving quietly and cautiously, John peered down… and nearly fell out of the tree. Immediately below him was Dr Rodney McKay, Ph. D, Ph. D, staring intently at a lifesigns detector, which explained the familiar beeping.

How the hell had they found him so quickly? He’d been in the enclosure on the other planet for a couple of weeks at least.

John would have to ask later. Right there and then, he had the best opportunity he could have hoped for, because Rodney alone was the least likely to shoot him. Even if he tried he’d probably miss. Aiming a gun steadily at a friend could never be easy, even if said friend looked like a bug.

Also, Rodney had a lifesigns detector, so staying in the tree was completely pointless because Rodney knew someone was there. Actually, it was weird he hadn’t called for back up, but you didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. John considered calling out, then decided that would just give Rodney somewhere to aim.

John jumped down a few branches, then straight to the ground, a little closer to Rodney then he had intended. John staggered, his injured leg had made the landing awkward, and Rodney leapt backwards, scrabbling for a wraith stunner.

And, crap, wraith stunner; that was bad.

A rustle behind him made John spin around before he had time to reassure Rodney. It was Ronon. Of course it was Ronon, he must have looped back around while John was focused on Rodney.

The stun blast hit John in the chest almost instantaneously and the world spiralled into darkness.

______________________

 

Rodney stared from Ronon to John and back again. ‘What took you so long?!’

Ronon shrugged. ‘Knew he’d turn around as soon as I moved.’

Rodney huffed and retrieved the lifesigns detector from where he’d hastily thrown in. ‘Teyla, we’ve got him.’

‘Understood,’ reported Teyla, ‘I will meet you back at the Stargate. Unless you need my help?’

‘No,’ said Ronon, heaving John over his shoulder. ‘I got it.’

‘I wonder why he stayed so close to the gate,’ said Rodney. ‘If I hadn’t spotted his life sign we could still be tramping around looking for him. In the trees you couldn’t even track him.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ grunted Ronon.

Rodney stopped babbling. No, it didn’t matter, because now what mattered was taking John back to Atlantis. To his death.

Rodney swallowed. ‘I should’ve found something, I should have started looking in the database sooner, maybe I could have found something Carson could have used before it was too late.’

Ronon kept walking.

Rodney shut up. Doranda had been bad, but this was worse. This time his failure was going to mean John’s life, not his trust.

Teyla was waiting at the Stargate. He gaze lingered on john for a moment and then she went to dial Atlantis.

‘Wait,’ said Rodney, before he could stop himself, his eyes were stinging. ‘We could dial somewhere else. I know a few uninhabited planets, even the one with the iratus bugs would do. We could send him there, say we couldn’t find him, and I could rig the DHD to overload after we left. Obviously he’d be trapped there, but, but he’d-’ Rodney stopped. _He’d be alive._

Teyla placed her hand on his arm. ‘That is not what John would have wanted.’

Rodney looked away. ‘No. No, of course not.’

Elizabeth, Carson and a medical team waited in the Gateroom.

‘You found him,’ said Elizabeth, blinking rapidly.

Carson wheeled over the gurney, avoiding looking directly at anyone. ‘Rest the lad on here, lets get him to the infirmary. Best to do this right away, I’m afraid.’

Caldwell joined them, looking less superior then before. He stood at parade rest while the medical team wheeled John away.

‘Shall we?’ asked Elizabeth, gesturing gently after them.

Rodney was horrified to find Carson attaching restrains to John’s wrists and ankles when he reached the infirmary.

‘He’s unconscious!’

‘Aye, Rodney,’ said Carson. ‘It’s a precaution.’

Rodney looked pleadingly at Elizabeth, but she just shook her head as Ronon and Teyla took their positions. Rodney was forced to concede that, as far as precautions went, it wasn’t unreasonable.

John looked almost peaceful unconscious. The retrovirus had run its course, leaving most of his fact covered in blue tinged scales and harden skin. There were still patches of normal looking skin on his arms, but not much. Rodney looked away. Despite the change, it was still unmistakably John Sheppard.

Carson took out a needle filled with an innocuous looking needle. He hesitated. ‘We are… we are sure about this?’

Rodney shifted uncomfortably.

‘Yes, Carson,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m afraid we’re out of options, but if you would prefer not to do it yourself?’

‘No, love, we talked about that too,’ Carson sighed. ‘He’s my patient and friend and I owe him this much.’

Carson took two steps forward until his was standing right next to John, then he carefully inserted the needle into John’s arm.

______________________

 

A prick in his arm jolted John back into full consciousness and John tried to snatch his arm away, only to find he couldn’t move it very far. It was far enough though; the movement sent a needle spinning away.

‘Bloody hell,’ cursed a Scottish voice.

John wrenched at the restraints and jerked away from all the faces crowding around him. Then recognition surfaced and John took in a scene of total panic.

‘Did you give him any of it?’ Elizabeth’s voice was yelling.

‘Barely a drop,’ Carson’s panicked voice answered. Which begged the question…

Ronon’s gun powered up.

‘A drop of what?!’ John yelled over the cacophony.

The room went deathly still.

Oh. Right. Great introduction.

A quick glance around revealed he had six separate guns pointed at him, only one of which was a stunner. Charming.

Carson looked between Rodney and Elizabeth. ‘Am I imagining things, or did he just…?’

‘Speak?’ asked Rodney, staring at John like he was a naquadah generator that was daring to overload without Rodney’s expressed permission.

‘Yeah,’ said John, trying really hard to look unthreatening. ‘I did.’

‘John?’ asked Elizabeth, tentatively. She’d gone very pale.

‘Hi, Elizabeth,’ said John wearily.

‘You’re supposed to be crazy!’ protested Rodney, sounded affronted. And that was just close enough to normal for John to relax a little.

‘Yeah, well, no crazier than usual,’ said John, attempting a half smile. He didn’t think he succeeded.

‘But you were! This isn’t possible! You’ve been completely crazy for weeks! Pacing and hiding and, and _becoming nocturnal_!’ shouted Rodney, glaring at John like it was all his fault.

John narrowed his eyes. Pacing. How the _hell_ did Rodney know that?

‘I’ve been _pacing_ for _weeks_?’ asked John, very calmly in a low tone.

‘Yes, you have,’ said Rodney, looking defiantly back. ‘And if you haven’t noticed, you still look like a bug!’

John chose to ignore that. ‘And how would you know what I’ve been doing the last few weeks?’

‘John,’ said Teyla, clearly trying for a calming tone, but still sounding a bit freaked out.

‘Every time I went to visit you!’ snapped back Rodney. ‘Pacing! All day!’

John took a deep breath and kept his voice calm and measured, because that could only mean one thing. ‘You’ve been _keeping me_ in a _cage_.’

All the colour drained from Rodney’s face.

Elizabeth moved forward. ‘Listen, John…’

‘You’ve been keeping me, locked up, in a goddamn _cage_ ,’ he yelled. ‘I’m not a fucking _zoo exhibit_.’

His guards had stepped forward, guns in hands. John forced himself to take a deep breath; acting aggressively was really not the healthiest option. There was no way he was getting stunned again.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the restraints. ‘How long?’

‘What?’ asked Rodney.

‘How long were you going to keep me locked up for?’

‘Um,’ said Rodney, looking, if possible, even more awkward.

‘We weren’t going to keep you there any longer, John,’ said Elizabeth softly. ‘That’s why we brought you to the infirmary.’

As if to illustrate her point, Carson gingerly laid the retrieved syringe back on the table… and John understood.

‘You…’ started John, trying to re-adjust. Holy shit. ‘You injected me with some of that?’

‘Just a wee drop.’ Carson shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not enough to do any harm.’

John would have followed up on Carson’s definition of a ‘wee drop of lethal injection’, but at that moment Caldwell barged in.

He turned straight to address Carson and the marine guards. ‘Colonel Sheppard is currently a threat to this base. I want him moved to a secure cell, _immediately._ ’

Elizabeth shook her head at the marines, then turned to Caldwell. ‘Colonel Sheppard appears to be fully lucid.’

‘Appears to be, only a few days ago-’ said Caldwell, but Elizabeth didn’t let him finish.

‘Yes, Colonel, _appears to be_.’ She looked Caldwell in the eye. ‘And the best place for that to be medically assessed is the infirmary, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I feel like myself again,’ added John, because he understood where Caldwell was coming from, but it had to have been over a week since he’d become lucid and he didn’t _feel_ like he was losing control again. Then again, Ford had thought he was fine. Everyone turned to look at him. John grimaced. ‘Apart from the scales.’

He saw Elizabeth cover a small smile despite herself. Caldwell, however, didn’t seem interested in talking to John, which was irritating as hell. Sure, the guy had never seen a wraith so John was willing to give him some leeway, but he really needed Caldwell to acknowledge that he wasn’t some crazy bug… thing anymore.

‘I want a full medical assessment by you _and_ Dr Heightmeyer ASAP,’ Caldwell told Carson. ‘Any doubt and Colonel Sheppard is to be moved directly to a secure location. Understood?’

‘I understand, but-’ said Carson.

‘Good.’ Caldwell left without looking at John.

Elizabeth waited until he was well out of earshot. ‘John, he does have a point. You haven’t been behaving like yourself.’

John looked up at the ceiling and inwardly winced. Well this was going to be a _fun_ conversation. He automatically tried to lift a hand to rub the back of his neck, but was stopped by the restraint. John swallowed, fighting the urge to try and tear his arm out. Weeks of being locked up and he _really_ didn’t want to be restrained.

‘Yeah I know,’ he told Elizabeth, trying to keep still so he couldn’t feel the persistent pressure of the restraints followed closely by the familiar need to _escape_.

‘Are you going to tell us _why_?’ asked Rodney, sounding pretty damn angry. ‘FYI, acting like a bug is not normal.’

‘I _know_ ,’ snapped John, irritated. What the hell did Rodney have the right to be angry about? He’d been the one there’d been keeping like a pet. ‘I was doing that _on purpose._ ’

‘Is that your idea of a joke?’ Rodney’s face was turning an alarming shade of purple. ‘Because I’m not laughing, Colonel!’

‘Oh, yeah. I find being locked up like an animal _hilarious_!’ snarled John, accidentally pulling on the restraints as he tried to sit up.

‘Rodney,’ said Elizabeth in a sharp tone. ‘I think you should leave the infirmary.’

‘But…’ Rodney glanced between her and John.

‘ _Now_ ,’ said Elizabeth.

Rodney snapped his mouth shut and stalked out of the isolation room, throwing one last indecipherable look in John’s direction.

Elizabeth turned to Teyla and Ronon. Teyla dipped her head in acknowledgement of the silent message. ‘We will leave too.’ She turned to John. ‘I will visit you later.’

John nearly leapt out of his skin when Teyla walked confidently over and rested her forehead to his in the Athosian manner. ‘It is good to have you back.’

She led Ronon out.

John privately admitted that he was a bit relieved now that the room wasn’t so crowded. And yet… he kind of wished Rodney had stayed.

Carson tapped him lightly on the shoulder, causing John to jump. ‘I just need to take a bit of blood.’

John nodded distractedly and Carson went ahead.

John licked his lips and looked away. ‘I didn’t think it was you who’d locked me up.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘That was why you were acting… differently?’

John looked up sharply to see her raised eyebrows and soft expression. Okay, so not a challenge then. He blew out a huffed breath.

‘Yeah. I thought if whoever had captured me thought I was still, y’know, crazy, I’d have an advantage.’ John lowered his gaze again and pulled at the bed sheet with one hand. ‘It made sense at the time. Sounds pretty stupid now I know it was you guys.’

Jesus. He’d spent _days_ breaking out when all he’d had to do was go up and knock on the glass.

‘Well it actually worked,’ said Elizabeth, then her tone changed to be very serious. ‘A little too well. John, I understand you didn’t think we’d do that to you, and I’m very sorry.’

John raised his yellow eyes to meet her green ones. ‘I have a living will.’

It was Elizabeth’s turn to look away. ‘I know. _And_ you spoke to me, before the inhibitor wore off.’

John winced. ‘I remember that. Actually, I remember _all_ of that. Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, … I didn’t _want_ …’ John cringed a bit. He was terrible at this.

Elizabeth saved him from trying to finish. ‘It’s fine, John. You warned me to stay away and I didn’t listen to you.’

Carson cleared his throat from the doorway. ‘I’d like to attach an EEG now, Colonel.’

John tried to gesture and was again stopped by the restraints. He clenched his jaw and settled for a nod. ‘Go ahead.’

John flinched when Carson put the electrodes on his scalp, then looked up at the soft tap on the door. Standing there was just who John needed to complete his day. Dr Heightmeyer. Caldwell really hadn’t been kidding when he said ASAP.

Elizabeth briefly rested a hand on John’s shoulder and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll see you later, John.’ She paused briefly and turned to Carson. ‘I think we can remove the restraints.’ John appreciated the offered smile. ‘Like I said, you warned me when there was a problem, I think I can make up for not listening then by listening now.’

Heightmeyer looked expectant, but Carson was still setting up the EEG. ‘I’ll just be a wee bit longer.’

_Carson,_ thought John, feeling the psychiatrist’s gaze on him, _you can take all the time in the world._

______________________

 

Elizabeth had called everyone into the conference room again, this time with the addition of Kate Heightmeyer.

‘What I don’t understand,’ said Caldwell. ‘Is why he kept acting the way he did. It just doesn’t make sense.’

Elizabeth had a feeling that this conversation had the potential to go around in circles and decided not to let it. She understood some of Caldwell’s barely hidden hostility towards John; Caldwell had clearly wanted John’s position in Atlantis. The distrust made sense too. John had, after all, taken out two guards before. Elizabeth had a feeling that Caldwell was becoming aware that John Sheppard had deserved his promotion and didn’t like the fact. The Pegasus Galaxy required a lot of flexibility when it came to Earth rules and Elizabeth was well aware it took some adjusting, and for that reason alone, she was willing to cut Colonel Caldwell some slack. She had dealt with more rigid military types before.

‘He believed it would give him an advantage in escaping,’ Elizabeth said calmly, addressing her answer to the whole group. ‘He’s made it very clear he didn’t think it was us who were holding him.’ She turned to Carson and Heightmeyer. ‘You’ve both given assurances that Colonel Sheppard is as lucid as he claims.’

‘Aye,’ said Carson. ‘His brain chemistry has gradually returned to a state that’s much closer to normal.’

‘He was never deceptive when the retrovirus was progressing, I don’t think he would be now.’ Heightmeyer gave a reassuring smile. ‘The retrovirus lowered his inhibitions and prevented him from staying lucid, it did not transplant another consciousness.’

‘And how did we not know that he’d become lucid again?’ asked Caldwell. ‘I’m not just talking about his actions. Doctor Beckett, this was your retrovirus.’

Carson went beet red. ‘All indications showed it would take over his mind. There was nothing to indicate that it would reverse once the retrovirus had run its course. I can only guess that, because a lot of the hard data we gathered was from examining Ellia, that the way a human brain reacts to the retrovirus is subtly different than the way the wraith brain reacts.’

‘No one is blaming you, Carson,’ said Elizabeth, thinking that _everyone_ should be scheduling appointments with Dr Heightmeyer. She’d have to make that compulsory. ‘Now that we’re certain as we can be that the colonel is lucid, I want to know where we go next with his treatment.’

Heightmeyer cleared her throat. ‘First of all, I would recommend we keep him in the private room and limit the number of visitors.’

Elizabeth frowned and leaned forward. ‘Surely visitors will help him. I don’t want to isolate him.’

Heightmeyer shook her head. ‘No, of course not. Actually, the point is that, on top of everything else, Colonel Sheppard _has_ been isolated and conscious of it for what he estimates to be just over a week. He needs to have some visitors, but the last thing we want to do is crowd him. Particularly when the retrovirus is enhancing his senses.’

‘Okay,’ agreed Elizabeth. ‘A maximum of two visitors at any one time.’

‘And the retrovirus itself?’ asked Teyla. ‘Do we know what lasting effects such an experience will have on Colonel Sheppard?’

Heightmeyer hesitated. ‘I understand that patient confidentiality is more flexible in a base such as this, where it is important that the health of my patients is known, but I still prefer to keep private information at a strictly need to know basis.’

‘Of course,’ said Teyla, bowing her head. ‘I do not want to intrude.’

‘What about security?’ asked Caldwell. ‘I trust he will remain restrained and I want two men stationed outside the door at all times.’

Elizabeth inwardly grimaced. This was bound to cause an argument. ‘I’ve already asked Dr Beckett to remove the restraints.’

‘Then he should be restrained again immediately,’ said Caldwell, outraged.

‘I do not believe we should keep him restrained,’ put in Teyla.

Heightmeyer nodded at Teyla. ‘As I said, Colonel Sheppard has been _aware_ of being confined, by us, for a week. Restraining him could impede his recovery.’

‘Colonel Sheppard has proved himself dangerous,’ argued Caldwell, and while Elizabeth understood his point, she couldn’t agree with it. Ronon was dangerous. It didn’t mean he would spontaneiously attack anyone.

‘Please,’ snorted Rodney contemptuously. ‘You’ve already been told he’s himself again, at least mentally. How long would you have him restrained for. A few more days? Weeks? I’m sure _that_ would help his recovery.’

‘Until he’s cured,’ said Caldwell.

There were times, Elizabeth reflected, when she appreciated the caution that the military seemed to approach everything with. However, personally she believed that a little bit of trust went a long way. Caldwell’s caution was giving her a headache and it wasn’t uniquely his; she could have imagined Colonel Sumner or Sergeant Bates giving her the same advice.

‘I really wouldn’t recommend that,’ said Heightmeyer, firmly.

‘I agree with Dr Heightmeyer,’ said Carson. ‘My cure may take some time.’

‘Assuming he’ll accept the cure,’ said Caldwell.

Rodney stared at him. ‘Excuse me?’

But Elizabeth understood what Caldwell meant. ‘You mean like Lieutenant Ford?’

John had said he felt like Ford, but Elizabeth thought he had meant more in the transformation itself, rather than being in the same mental state. Ford had been unaware that he was acting strangely, he had thought the change was a good thing. John, Elizabeth knew, had been less impressed.

Caldwell leant forward in his chair. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Rodney, but Elizabeth thought she detected a note of uncertainty.

‘I think Colonel Sheppard will want to be cured,’ said Teyla.

Elizabeth felt the need to nip this argument in the bud. ‘Why don’t we ask him?’

That silenced everyone, so she turned back to the two doctors. ‘Carson, would you be comfortable with starting the treatment?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ Carson told her. ‘With his consent of course. But I really can’t promise anything, there’s only so much testing I can do. It all looks promising, but I still can’t be 100% sure it will work.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘I understand that. Dr Heightmeyer?’

‘I believe we should start the treatment,’ said Heightmeyer.

Elizabeth sat back in her chair and rubbed her temples. Despite her certainty that what was happening to John was very different to Ford, she just couldn’t quite stamp out a small flame of uncertainty.

______________________

 

John was lying, flat on his back, wondering whether he could safely sit up without worrying his guards, when he heard Elizabeth, Carson and Rodney approaching.

‘I’m coming in with you,’ Rodney was insisting.

‘You can visit him later, Rodney,’ Elizabeth replied sternly.

‘Or, I could visit him now.’ Rodney’s voice verged on a whine. ‘Heightmeyer said he should have visitors.’

They had stopped just outside the door. John winced, wondering what Heightmeyer had said. Every session he’d had with her (usually not voluntarily) he’d been wondering exactly what she was thinking… and passing on to the SGC. It would really suck if he survived all the disobeyed orders only to be kicked out of Atlantis because Heightmeyer didn’t think he was sane enough.

Then again, in Pegasus ‘sane’ was relative. And Heightmeyer wasn’t too bad, and she seemed to understand that John’s usual silence in their sessions wasn’t personal. How the hell did you talk about meeting life sucking aliens and shooting your commanding officer without seeming crazy enough to be sent home?

‘Kate suggested we _limit_ visitors,’ corrected Elizabeth. ‘I don’t think she would recommend visitors who shout at and aggravate him.’

‘I-‘ Carson tried to break in.

‘I wasn’t aggravating him!’ protested Rodney.

‘I really-’ Carson made a second attempt, John was pretty certain he knew what Carson was trying to say.

‘What would you call it then?’ demanded Elizabeth, and John could imagine the steel glint in her eye. ‘Calmly talking things over? If you come in, Rodney, you are _not_ to start shouting again. Do you understand.’

‘But-’ spluttered Rodney. ‘But that’s just how we…’

‘I really think, with the mutation progressed this far,’ broke in Carson, ‘that he can probably hear you.’

There was a short silence, within with John suspected Rodney was trying to pledge his good behaviour with hand gestures, then the door opened. Elizabeth entered first, followed by Carson and then Rodney bustled in last as if he thought Carson would close the door on him. John sat up slowly and caught site of his guards looking in suspiciously before the door was closed. New guys from the Daedalus. John hadn’t even given them the orientation talk yet, he thought Lorne had probably done it by now: Welcome to Pegasus, oh by the way, your commanding officer is a bug right now.

‘Hello, Colonel,’ said Carson, in complete doctor mode.

‘Hi,’ replied John, not really sure what was expected of him. There were things he really, really needed to ask, but, if he was being completely honest with himself, was a little afraid of the answer.

‘We’re here to discuss you’re treatment with you,’ Elizabeth told him.

There, right there, was the question right at the very top of John’s list. And, a little afraid or not, John really needed the answer. Maybe if there was something to discuss it was good news.

‘There’s a treatment?’

Carson nodded. ‘I developed a cure based on the iratus eggs you collected for us.’ He paused, as if mentally replaying that sentence in his head. ‘I’m not sure if you remember, but you went with the second team to the iratus bug planet.’

‘I remember,’ John told him, quickly. No need to re-live _that_ particular adventure.

Carson continued. ‘Yes. Well. I made a cure with the iratus eggs. It’s slightly modified from the original plan, since the retrovirus has now run its course, but I believe it will completely reverse the effects.’

That definitely sounded like good news, but John held back the celebrations because there was a definite tension in the room. Elizabeth’s forehead was creased in a slight frown and Rodney was wearing his wide eyed hopeful expression and fidgeting. John waited for the other shoe to drop, but Carson looked like he was expected some kind of response.

‘Ok-ay,’ John said slowly, eyes flickering over the three of them.

They exchanged glances, like some kind of secret club that John was excluded from. No bugs allowed. Rodney fidgeted some more.

‘Well?’ demanded Rodney loudly, earning an immediate glare from Elizabeth.

John shifted a bit under the intense scrutiny. Oh yeah. Definitely like a secret club. ‘What?’

‘John,’ said Carson, very seriously. ‘We were wondering if you would like the cure?’

‘ _What?’_ asked John, more forcefully, because if anyone was crazy here it was supposed to be _him_. ‘No, I’m fine as a bug, thanks.’

The tension in the room skyrocketed, Elizabeth and Carson froze. Rodney looked utterly devastated.

What the hell?

‘Of course I want the damn treatment!’ said John, exasperated. ‘Why the hell wouldn’t I?’

‘Ah, well,’ said Carson, visibly relaxing. ‘After Lieutenant Ford…’

‘You did say you felt a bit like Ford,’ said Elizabeth gently.

John shook his head, because this was all _wrong_. He’d been worrying over whether a cure even existed and they’d thought he didn’t even want it. ‘I want the treatment. I’m telling you right now, if there’s one thing I’m pretty damn sure of, I don’t _want_ to be part _bug_. I want to get rid of these scales, these claws-’ John flexed his hand, ‘-and the damned freaky eyes. The healing and the super senses have their uses, but they’re _creeping me out_.’

John found he’d clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to relax. The heart monitor was happily broadcasting his elevated heart rate.

Elizabeth had moved forward so she was right next to the bed. ‘It’s okay, John. We just had to be sure.’

Carson spoke again. ‘The treatment may take a little while to completely cure you. This isn’t going to be a quick fix, I’m afraid, but I’ll do everything possible to make sure it works. We can start as early as tomorrow, if you want.’

‘Today,’ said John. They’d thought he wanted to _stay_ like this for God’s sake. ‘I want to start it today.’

‘I suppose there’s no reason not to…’ Carson glanced over at Elizabeth.

‘John,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We don’t want to rush you into this. Like Carson said, it’s not going to be easy.’

‘Aye,’ said Carson. ‘I’m sorry, but into reverse it you’re going to feel much the opposite as you did when you were first infected, you’ll most likely be as weak as a kitten.’

‘I don’t care,’ said John, and he really, _really_ didn’t. ‘I think I’ve been part _bug_ for long enough.’

______________________

 

No more than a few days into the treatment and John found that he did care. The weakness was getting pretty bad; it was an effort to get up and go to the bathroom, never mind leave the infirmary. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t thirsty and he _ached_ like he had the worst case of flu imaginable. The infirmary lights, which he had found bright from the moment he woke up, became unbearably so, John had had to dim them, thanking his lucky stars that the ATA gene hadn’t been taken by the retrovirus.

He spent all day curled up on his side. He’d asked Carson for no visitors, but all that had done was get Heightmeyer in again and John hadn’t had the energy to argue with her. She had taken pity on him and the compromise was that John got occasional visitors.

It was supposed to be good for him. Yeah, right, like John wanted an audience.

Ronon, Teyla, Elizabeth and Lorne had turned up, although Heightmeyer said there were others who had asked to visit. Ronon’s visits had been a bit unnerving, John liked the guy, but Ronon looming in the corner had not been particularly comforting. John found himself thinking he’d be damn glad to have Ronon watching his back offworld; he might even scare off some of the bad guys before they attacked. Teyla’s visits had been very different, and John supposed he appreciated it; out of all of them, Teyla was in the best position to appreciate what he was going through.

But John just needed to get away, to _run_ away. The very air in the infirmary felt like it was pushing down on him and the _sounds…_

In the enclosure there had been nothing and John had hated it, but he hadn’t realised how used to it he’d become. Atlantis, particularly the infirmary, was never silent. People talking, machines beeping even just people moving about, John’s improved hearing detected it all and he needed to _get away._

He couldn’t. John curled up tighter and tried to shut out the world.

_How is he Carson?_ Spoken outside his room, all day, every day, in different voices. The only consolation being Carson was usually optimistic in his reply.

‘I’ve survived iratus bugs, Genii and a fucking wraith siege,’ John muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the ache that had settled there. ‘I am damn well going to survive this.’

There was one other thing irritating John. Rodney.

Rodney had been conspicuous in his absence. John had spoken to Elizabeth about it, largely because he suspected that she was keeping him away and John was feeling just bad enough to _want_ to pick a fight with someone, but Elizabeth hadn’t been banning Rodney from visiting. She didn’t say much else, so John dropped the subject.

If Rodney wasn’t visiting, it was probably because he found John’s appearance disturbing, and that was one thing that John could totally relate to. And maybe it was a good thing that Rodney didn’t see him like this and yet… if he had to have visitors, John would have chosen to see Rodney.

On the fifth day of being given his cure, John’s rough blue skin started flaking off and the itching started.

And it didn’t stop. Carson consulted with Atlantis’s dermatologists, and prescribed John with cream and balm after cream and balm. Nothing worked, not completely. Even the thin scrubs and infirmary blanket aggravated John’s skin until his resolve snapped and he scratched, which hurt. A lot.

After that, John was given gloves and told not to scratch under any circumstances. Right. Like he hadn’t figured that out for himself.

The infirmary noise was still bad, but it was leaning towards bearable and John cursed that the itching had started just as his other symptoms became less.

Midmorning , six days into the treatment, John heard his door open and barely stifled a groan. Not visitors. There was no way he had the energy to deal with someone being determinedly cheerful, or wonder what Ronon was thinking as he loomed in the corner.

He lay still and pretended to be asleep. Maybe they’d just go away. It was probably Carson or a nurse anyway and he’d have his various monitors checked and then they’d leave again.

John heard whoever it was approaching his bed with cautious footsteps and John could sense them leaning over him. He lay as still as possible and tried to breathe deeply and steadily and as strange as it was, he could smell the person as they checked whether he was asleep. Wait. He knew that smell (and if that wasn’t weird…).

John opened his eyes suddenly and Rodney flailed backwards.

‘Long time no see,’ John croaked and, crap, was that _his_ voice?

‘I thought you were asleep,’ said Rodney, pointing his tablet accusingly at John.

‘Nope,’ said John, and resolutely did not scratch his arm where the blanket was rubbing. The last cream Carson had given him was having some effect and John had been trying to muster the will to put some more on.

‘Well,’ said Rodney, putting the tablet under his arm and studying John. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Yeah, well,’ said John, irritably. ‘I’m still blue.’

‘Hmm. Not entirely.’ Rodney looked thoughtful, then reached out a hand a peeled a strip of loose skin of John’s arm.

‘Hey!’ John yanked his arm back. God had he thought it itched _before_ Rodney did that.

Rodney ignored him, instead stared in weird fascination at the flake of skin. ‘Wow. That _is_ disgusting, isn’t it?’

Rodney dropped the skin flake and did a weird dance to avoid it as it floated to the floor. It would even have been funny if John hadn’t been focused on not itching his arm.

‘Fuck,’ said John through gritted teeth.

‘What?’ asked Rodney, then his eyes widened. ‘Oh God, that didn’t hurt you did it? Because I didn’t mean to, I was just, I don’t know what I was doing, it was just sticking out and I wasn’t thinking.’

‘It doesn’t hurt,’ John rasped, glaring at Rodney. ‘It _itches._ And I’d been doing a damn good job at not scratching it until you came in for the first goddamn time in days and thought ‘hey! I’ll scratch it for him!’ Where the hell have you been, anyway?’

It was probably some kind of faux pas to mention it when someone was avoiding you, but John really didn’t care. He’d been stuck in the infirmary feeling like crap and was recovering from what was probably the most nightmarish thing the galaxy had ever thrown at him and _Rodney,_ of all people _,_ hadn’t even bothered to turn up.

Rodney stuck out his chin. ‘I’ve been busy. Very, very busy doing extremely important stuff that could mean life or death for everyone in this city. And -’ Rodney jabbed a finger in John’s direction. ‘ _And_ I’ve got to supervise all the other so-called scientists to make sure they’re not accidentally plotting to blow something up!’

‘You’d better leave then,’ snapped John. ‘Can’t be wasting your valuable time in here. Or should I feel honoured by your presence?’

Rodney looked hurt and John turned away, ashamed. Ranting about his importance was just Rodney being… well _Rodney_ , and it didn’t usually get on his nerves.

‘I, ah, I could go if you want.’

John stared up at him, confused. Did Rodney want John to ask him to leave? Or was Rodney seriously concerned that John didn’t want him there?

‘Look,’ said Rodney. ‘An answer would be really great, because I can tell that you’ve got the creepy wraith stare down pat, so if you don’t want me here. I’ll just, y’know, leave.’

John sighed, idly scratching at his arm. ‘Why do you think I don’t want you here?’

‘Well obviously it’s because of what I did. I mean obviously I’ll agree that it wasn’t the nicest thing in the world, but it’s not _my_ fault you didn’t realise it was us who put you there and I was only buying time anyway as you well know.’ Rodney folded his arms, like he was waiting for John to do something like confirm he was right.

‘Wait, what?’ John replayed the conversation in his head. God, he was too _tired_ for this shit. ‘No damn it, I wasn’t saying I don’t want you here, I was asking why it is that you think I don’t want you here.’

‘But obviously you are pissed at me,’ said Rodney, in a tone that suggested he’d collected all the data he needed to support his theory. ‘You said it yourself, I locked you up. And I’m sure Elizabeth’s confirmed by now that it was my idea, I admit it. I found the outpost in the Ancient database and I suggested we use it.’

‘Okay,’ John conceded, since Rodney was absolutely right about that. John was pretty sure he’d never visit a zoo again. ‘I am kinda pissed about that.’

‘I knew it!’ said Rodney. ‘And I’ve been told that I owe you an apology so- _will you stop that_!’

Rodney grabbed John’s hand and John flinched away, but Rodney held on. John’s arm was bleeding and he realised that he must have been scratching at it as he talked to Rodney.

‘Damnit.’ John winced. Predictably, his arm was starting to throb, Carson had said itching it was a bad idea, John suspected having claws made it a _really_ bad idea. And Rodney still had hold of his hand and as much as John found he actually didn’t mind, it was a little weird. ‘Okay, you can let go now.’

Rodney hurriedly snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

John closed his eyes and sighed. ‘I don’t think you do owe me an apology.’

‘What? But you just said you were angry!’

‘Yeah I know.’ John bit his lip and damned if that didn’t itch too. ‘But considering what I’d said to Elizabeth… Y’know, the ends justify the means and all that.’

‘Exactly!’ said Rodney, triumphantly. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying to Elizabeth! She’s been telling me to apologize but I said there was no way I’d apologize for you not being _dead_.’

John winced and then rolled his eyes for Rodney’s benefit. God he was tired, he’d just close his eyes for a second. Just for a second.

______________________

 

He must have fallen asleep, because it felt like hours later when he opened his eyes again. Rodney was still there, or had come back, and he was watching John intently.

‘You still look really weird,’ Rodney said, when John blinked sleepily at him.

‘Thanks,’ said John, sarcastically, not bothering to sit up.

He did a quick inventory. The itching was still there in full force, but the aches were a little bit better and his hands felt strange. Tingly at the finger tips, which was new.

‘Weird,’ said Rodney, thoughtfully. ‘You still look like you, though. Underneath all the shedding skin, of course. But you always looked like you, it was bizarre, you’d be pacing up and down looking way too much like a bug but also like _you_.’

‘Great,’ said John, distractedly examining his hands. It was the claws that were feeling different, so John tugged experimentally on one. ‘You thought, it still kinda looks like John Sheppard so I’ll keep it in a cage and watch it.’

‘Hey!’ said Rodney, sounding hurt. ‘I thought you said you were okay with that.’

‘Nope,’ said John going for casual. He really didn’t want to talk about the enclosure, hell he didn’t even want to _think_ about it. Better to focus on something else, anything else. The claw on his middle finger moved when he wiggled it about a bit. ‘Still pissed at you for that. How often were you there anyway?’

John mentally cursed. Why had he asked that? He wanted Rodney to _drop_ the subject.

Rodney flushed. ‘Every few days. Someone had to be there! You needed food and clothes and… what the hell are you doing? Oh god what did you do that for, Carson’s going to kill me for letting you do that.’

John had given his claw a sharp tug and it had come right off. Which was gross, but Carson had warned him they were going to fall off eventually.

John grimaced. ‘Is there a bin in here?’

‘A _bin_?’ Rodney’s voice lifted an octave on the last word.

‘I can’t just leave it lying around,’ said John, which he thought was pretty reasonable. Setting it carefully down in the bed, John wiggled the claw on his thumb, then the one on his index finger, hoping they’d all come off. He’d be glad to see the last of them. ‘That would be worse than leaving toe nail clippings around the place.’

‘Oh god,’ said Rodney. ‘Stop that, leave them alone, I’ll get Carson. Do you even have nails under those?’

John examined his finger. ‘Yeah. Sort of.’

The other claws weren’t coming off. John briefly considering pliers, then dismissed the idea, dropping his hand back down; Carson would throw a fit.

John was familiar with exhaustion, he’d pulled enough late nights, spent enough hours running only on adrenaline, but this was something else. He couldn’t have been awake more than a few minutes and yet his eyelids were drooping. Great. Getting tired out by talking.

Rodney shifted. ‘Are you okay? Because you’re starting to look at bit…’ Rodney waved a hand in the air to illustrate his point.

‘Feels like I have the flu,’ muttered John, more to himself that to Rodney.

‘Oh, uh, do you need anything? Food? Water? I could get Carson?’

John had forgotten how much Rodney hated being around sick people. John had always thought it ironic considering how much time Rodney spent in the infirmary badgering Carson about little things like splinters. But hey, the Pegasus Galaxy had thrown a lot of crap at them and John knew everyone had a different way of coping.

He lifted his head to look at Rodney. ‘Nah. Just sleep I think, Carson warned me it’d be rough.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Rodney, peering worriedly at him. ‘But if you’re admitting that then it must be bad.’

‘Mmm,’ said John, shifting in an attempt to ease the ache creeping up his back. ‘Well it’s not good.’

Rodney snapped his fingers. ‘Pain killers. I can get Carson to give you pain killers, particularly since you’ve scratched all the skin off your arm.’

‘It’s fine.’ John moved his arm under the blanket.

‘Um, hello? Moving it where I can’t see it does not make it better.’ Rodney was studying John again, so John looked away, it was unnerving and it reminded him of being in the enclosure, not knowing who was watching. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be putting cream on it or something? Carson said he’d found something that helped.’

‘S’over there,’ mumbled John, wincing as he waved an arm in its general direction. Damn did he hate aching muscles.

John let his eyes fall shut and listened to Rodney as he crossed the room and picked up the cream. Rodney’s scent had filled the room and John realised he didn’t find it unpleasant. Weird, sure, being able to identify people by smell, but still. He thought his eyesight might be returning to normal, which would be nice, particularly if his eye colour was fixing itself too. Yellow irises with slitted pupils were just plain disturbing and maybe once they were fixed he’d be able to stand looking in a mirror. He thought he might have stopped healing as fast as well and that was no so good, but at least the gash on his leg had healed first.

‘Hey!’ The raised voice cut through John’s thoughts. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

John sluggishly opened his eyes again to squint at Rodney. ‘Um, maybe?’

‘Oh sure. I said; have you even been using this stuff.’ Rodney waved the skin cream tube in John’s face.

‘Yes,’ said John and if it sounded a bit bitchy, well that was Rodney’s fault for asking.

He focused on the bottle of cream, which Rodney was still waving in his face. It was a light green colour and John thought it looked much like the product bottles Nancy had kept in the shower. Then Rodney’s hand appeared from nowhere and he clicked his fingers in John’s face.

‘Sheppard? Are you even still conscious?’

‘I’m awake, Rodney.’ John scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Fuck, _fuck_ , that itches.’

‘It wouldn’t do if you’d been using the cream,’ said Rodney, in a superior tone.

‘Shut up,’ said John and yeah maybe that was a little juvenile, so he added; ‘I have been using the cream.’

John must have let his eyes fall shut again because he didn’t see the hand full of cream coming until Rodney smeared it on his face.

‘What the-’John cringed back, trying to muster the energy to get angry. ‘Knock it off.’

Rodney poured more cream into his hand and waited. ‘No. You’re not going to do it otherwise so hold still.’

John flinched slightly as Rodney put it on his neck and started gently rubbing it in. ‘Give me the damn cream, I can do it myself.’

‘Oh thank god.’ Rodney shoved the bottle of cream into his hand, and started hastily rubbing his hands on his pants. ‘I was really hoping you’d say that, because your skin’s coming off and I really don’t want that on me.’

John squirted some cream into his own hand and glowered at Rodney. ‘Gee, thanks.’

‘No, seriously, god knows what I can catch from this.’ Rodney suddenly looked alarmed. ‘Oh no, what if I can get infected from this? Some of the flakes are very fine, I could even have breathed them in.’

‘Pretty sure Carson gave you all a lecture on how you couldn’t catch it from me anymore,’ said John as he rubbed the cream into his arm.

‘Right,’ said Rodney, visibly calming. ‘Right. Of course. Urgh, it’s all over my hands.’

John sighed. ‘Wash it off then. Bathrooms over there.’

‘Like I don’t know where the bathroom is.’ Rodney got half way out the door before turning back and wagging a threatening finger at John. ‘You better still be using that cream when I get back.’

______________________

 

Rodney went to the mess hall before he headed back to John, because there were serving _actual chocolate brownie,_ and there was no way he was going to miss out on that. It took longer than he expected since the marine cook refused to give him two brownies until Rodney had sworn on everything holy in two galaxies and his mother’s grave that they weren’t both for him. Well, not quite, but only because Teyla had intervened.

By the time he got back to the infirmary, John was not using the skin cream anymore, but only because he’d fallen asleep.

He was curled up on his side, the cream bottle still held loosely in one hand. Rodney just stood there, in the doorway, because the only word he could use to describe John was vulnerable and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard was not vulnerable. Rodney had seen him go from laid back and relaxed to stalking and killing Genii soldiers in a remarkably short period of time. But now, curled up with the alien skin peeling off and the too loose infirmary scrubs lying across John’s thin frame, he looked… fragile.

‘Ah, he’s asleep again,’ said Carson from behind Rodney.

‘It is working isn’t it?’ asked Rodney anxiously. ‘Obviously its reversing some of it because his skins peeling off and did you know he lost a claw earlier today? But, he’s going to be alright, isn’t he?’

‘I think he’ll make a full recovery,’ Carson confirmed, speaking in a low tone to avoid waking John. ‘It hasn’t been easy on him though. Where’s that claw then?’

‘Um…’ Rodney looked around, and saw it had fallen on the floor. ‘There.’

Carson walked over and picked it up before looking at John’s hand and tutting. ‘I told him to let them fall out; the nail hasn’t grown back completely underneath.’

‘Oh please,’ said Rodney. ‘Like he was ever going to listen to that.’

‘Aye,’ said Carson, smiling. ‘He certainly does like to rush his treatments, doesn’t he?’

‘That,’ Rodney told him, ‘is the understatement of the year.’

John was showing no signs of waking up, so Rodney moved the cream to the bedside table and dragged the visitors chair so it was right next to John’s bed. He worked solidly on his laptop, since they’d plugged in the ZPM months back they were able to explore more systems and had changed the power distribution. That meant hours and hours of weekly checks to make sure Atlantis hadn’t turned anything unnecessary on automatically and all their new power arrangements were working fine.

Rodney had divided up the work, with strict orders for anyone to report to him if they found anything off. Power was important. Very, very important. Rodney was utterly focused on his work when John suddenly cried out.

Rodney looked up sharply to see John, eyes wide open (one yellow and one hazel) but unseeing, scrambling backwards away from him.

Throwing his laptop aside Rodney leapt up, but was too late and John fell off the other side of the bed with a sharp _thump_. He rushed around to find John huddling against the bed, shaking.

‘John?’ Rodney approached slowly, hearing his friend panting. ‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.’

John was looking in his direction, but _through_ him more that at him so Rodney kept talking as he came closer and touched John gently on the shoulder. John jerked away, head coming dangerously close to hitting the bedside table, so Rodney stopped.

‘It’s me, Rodney,’ Rodney said, and how was he supposed to deal with this? He was a physicist, a scientist, a loner genius and yet a friend and John needed him. ‘John, it’s just me? Okay?’

John blinked and then frowned slightly, rasping out, ‘Rodney?’

‘Yes, yes that’s right.’ Rodney moved closer again and John’s frown deepened. ‘Look you really need to get back into bed. Do you know where you are?’

It seemed to take a lot of effort to think, but eventually John nodded and relaxed slightly. ‘Yeah. Infirmary.’ He scrubbed a hand over his face, and Rodney didn’t miss the grimace when John saw the blue flaky skin. ‘Crap, sorry. I just… I think I was somewhere else.’

‘No kidding,’ said Rodney and then reached forward and moved an arm around John’s waist. John’s extremely skinny waist, had Carson even been feeding the man? He tugged gently. ‘Come on.’

John leaned into him alarmingly and made no effort to stand up. ‘I look really fucking creepy.’

‘Well, yes,’ Rodney told him, slinging John’s left arm over his shoulder and making an attempt to pull him up. For a really skinny guy, John was heavy. ‘I think we’ve established that.’

John didn’t move, instead he just said quietly. ‘Y’know I didn’t even realise at first. In that stupid enclosure. I didn’t even realise I looked different, that’s how screwed up I was.’

Rodney froze, because it wasn’t often John chose to confide in someone. Also, whatever John had experienced in the enclosure was entirely Rodney’s fault and he’d danced around the subject earlier. John deserved better than that.

He sat down beside John. ‘Um, I don’t think I ever actually said; I am sorry about that.’

‘Yeah,’ John huffed out a small breath. ‘Don’t do that again.’

‘No no, of course not,’ said Rodney. Briefly he wondered; would he do it all again? And the answer was that he would, obviously, because the alternative was much, much worse.

John seemed to get that, because he said, ‘Still. Can’t really get too mad at you, like I said before; it beats being dead.’

‘Just don’t get yourself turned into a bug again, because I mean seriously, of all the things you had to do…’ Rodney studied John’s blue skin and thought maybe he could see some normal skin underneath. If John was making the effort to honestly talk to him, then Rodney decided he should return the favour. ‘You really scared me. I thought… well, I thought you’d survived a _suicide mission_ of all things, only to die by something we created. And honestly I can’t imagine this place without you, so… so, don’t do it again.’

‘Ditto,’ said John.

Rodney stared. ‘Ditto? I give you a speech and that’s all you say. Did you want to expand on that? Or is that it? _Ditto_.’

John snorted. ‘Can’t imagine Atlantis without you, either.’

‘Oh.’ Rodney paused. After years of being the arrogant genius people could barely stand, he’d become best friends with an unconventional smartarse military pilot who considered home to be a flying city in another galaxy. It felt pretty good. Rodney heaved at John’s waist again. ‘You really should get back in bed. Help me out here, you’re heavier than you look.’

John finally moved, twisting to get his legs under him. ‘God I hope this doesn’t last much longer.’

‘You’ve got one eye back to normal,’ Rodney told him, helping John to lie back on the bed. ‘Careful, you nearly crushed my arm, you jarhead.’

‘Really?’ John looked up at him hopefully. ‘And _marines_ get called jarheads. Not pilots.’

‘The left one,’ said Rodney, waving a hand at the left side of John’s face. ‘All human again.’

‘It’s about damn time,’ John said. ‘Who knows, maybe I’ll actually be able to get up soon. Getting pretty sick of lying here, feeling like crap.’

‘Hmm,’ said Rodney and he’d never been so pleased to hear John Sheppard talking about escaping form the infirmary. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to figure something out with Carson. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

______________________

 

Just over a week later, John sat on the infirmary bed and watched as Carson approached him with his latest test results. The only remaining sign of the retrovirus was that one spot on his arm where the whole thing had started, John was really hoping it was going to go away.

Once the aching had stopped and John had started to get seriously stir crazy. There was only so much staring at the infirmary ceiling he could take. Rodney had eventually showed up with a wheelchair and Carson’s permission to take John out of the infirmary. Apparently Rodney had been working getting Carson to agree to the idea ever since John had first mentioned getting out of the infirmary, even enlisting Heightmeyer for support. Usually, John hated wheelchairs; but at first it was the only way to get anywhere, so he hadn’t taken much convincing.

John faced Carson apprehensively. ‘So. What’s the verdict?’

‘Good news.’ Carson smiled broadly at him. ‘Looks like you’re one hundred percent human again. Not a trace of the retrovirus left.’

John breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Great, that’s really great, Carson.’ Then he glanced down at his arm again. Maybe there was just a trace left. ‘What about this?’

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Carson told him and John was only partly reassured. How could left over _bug skin_ be nothing to worry about? ‘That was the point of infection so I’m not surprised it’s hanging on a wee bit longer.’

‘How much longer?’ John really, really wanted to see the end of the whole thing. And if he ever saw an iratus bug again it would be too soon.

‘Hmm.’ Carson’s eyes flicked between the test results in his hand and the rough blue skin on John’s arm. ‘Not too long I shouldn’t think. Give it a few weeks.’

Weeks. John supposed it could be worse. ‘So, I can go now, right?’

‘Yes, colonel,’ said Carson and John jumped off the bed. ‘But don’t forget, light duty only, I don’t want to catch you pushing yourself too far.’

‘Sure,’ John agreed.

‘I mean it,’ said Carson sternly and then smiled. ‘Off with you, before I find more tests to run. Get yourself to the mess hall, doctor’s orders, you’ve got a bit of weight to put on.’

John rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Actually there’s a couple of people I need to find. I’ve still got some apologies to make.’

‘I’m sure no one blames you, lad,’ said Carson. ‘You weren’t yourself.’

‘Yeah. All the same…’ John trailed off.

Carson nodded. ‘I know.’

Light duty be damned, John’s first stop was the gym. What Carson didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and John was pretty sure it was Teyla’s practicing time.

 


End file.
